


But the day that I stop counting

by iriswallpaper



Series: Heartaches By The Number [13]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Custody Arrangements, Difficult Decisions, False Identity, Infidelity, M/M, Morally Ambiguous Character, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mycroft has a plan, Mycroft's legal research, POV Alternating, Season/Series 03, scenes in between/concurrent with S3 on-screen events, they finally have The Very Important Conversation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 06:54:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5775883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iriswallpaper/pseuds/iriswallpaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft shares information about John’s legal status as a husband and father. John and Sherlock need to make plans to do what’s best for the baby, but it’s hard for them to talk about their feelings.</p><p>Alternating POV, Sherlock/John/Sherlock</p><p>Scene-based fics that are concurrent with events in S3. This is not an S3 fix-it fic.</p><p> </p><p>Title from the song "Heartaches by the Number."</p>
            </blockquote>





	But the day that I stop counting

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed so please excuse my mistakes.

_Heartaches by the number, troubles by the score_  
_Everyday you love me less, each day I love you more_  
_Yes, I've got heartaches by the number, a love that I can't win_  
_But the day that I stop counting, that's the day my world will end_

 

Two large white envelopes lay on Mycroft’s desk, one bulky and the other thin. Mycroft’s face was as impassive as always. “Are you going to tell me why you called me here, or make me guess?” Sherlock snapped.

Mycroft inclined his head toward the envelopes. “I thought you’d be interested in some news I received. First, Doctor Watson is not actually legally married. Marriage entered into under false identity on the part of either party is not valid in the United Kingdom. Technically, John was never married, so he will not have to file for divorce. And second, the baby is his. DNA testing shows a certain match.”

Sherlock picked up the thin envelope and slid his thumb under the flap to break the seal. He pulled out the single sheet and scanned it quickly, then looked up to meet Mycroft’s eyes. “Where did you get John’s sample?”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “John was in the Army, Sherlock. Military service basically voids any privacy or agency over one’s body while enlisted. It was a simple matter.”

“It says on the report that Mary had amniocentesis. How did you manage that?”

“A simple matter. Mary’s chart already carries the large red Advanced Maternal Age stamp. A short conversation with her obstetrician was all it took.”

Sherlock scowled. “So now you’re meddling in the NHS, too? Putting the foetus at risk just to satisfy your morbid curiosity?”

Mycroft remained unflappable. “The doctor had already decided to suggest amniocentesis. I assure you, I did not sway his recommendation on the matter or his suggested course of treatment. Mary could have refused the procedure. She agreed because she wanted that report. And the risk is minute.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed his brother in the dimly lit office. “And why is she still free, Mycroft? Clearly she’s a threat to society.”

“That is a matter best left to me, brother mine. You concern yourself with John. I’ll concern myself with Mary. But, be assured, she is no threat to you or to John.”

Sherlock frowned at the single sheet of paper in his hand. “The sex of the baby is blank.”

Mycroft inclined his head toward his brother. “That information was of no consequence to me. I did not request it.”

Sherlock snatched up the bulky envelope and tore it open. It was a lengthy brief prepared by Mycroft’s legal staff. He flipped to the last page, where the conclusion was outlined: John was not, in fact, married. The brief was signed by three lawyers and notarized. Under the notary seal was another seal, from the City of London Registrar. Sherlock glanced sharply at Mycroft again. “You already had this filed with the registry office.”

Mycroft nodded. 

“Might it have occurred to you to ask John first?” Sarcasm dripped from Sherlock’s words. 

“Might you show a little gratitude? It was a considerable burden on my legal team.”

“But you could have shared it with John first.”

Mycroft frowned. “It’s not like the registry office has a standard form for ‘my wife lied about every detail of her life so the marriage needs to be voided.’ My legal team had to do extensive research. There is not a large body of precedent cases. Do you really think John would chose to stay in a sham marriage with the person who shot his lover?”

Sherlock blew out a long breath and sat with his eyes closed for a second. The envelope still contained another document, three pages stapled in the top left corner. He slipped the document out and scanned through it quickly then glanced at Mycroft with pain in his eyes. “He isn’t assured custody of the baby, even if the marriage was entered into under false identity?”

Mycroft drummed his fingers on the desk. That mundane action spoke volumes to Sherlock:  Mycroft had directed his legal team to search every avenue to assure John could take his child as soon as it was born. But their research had turned up disappointing results. Even though the child was conceived under false pretenses, Mary had an equal claim to John’s for custody of the child. And depending on the judge assigned to their case, Mary might have an even better claim. Many of the family court judges were still deeply traditional when it came to a mother keeping her child near. And in either case, it could take months or even years for the case to make its way through the family court system. Mary could bolt with the baby in that time. Sherlock dropped the report back to the desk and rubbed a hand down his face.

“So. What do you recommend?”

Mycroft’s eyes were unreadable in the dim light. “You read it, brother mine. John’s best strategy would be to go back to her. Convince her that he’s forgiven her. Make her believe he wants to be a happy family. He can have a custody motion ready to file as soon as the child comes. He’ll most likely be granted temporary custody, at least until Mary counter files. He can take the child from the hospital based on the temporary custody order.”

“Or, you could bring her in, she could give birth in a cell and John can take the baby.” Sherlock’s sardonic tone lilted through his words.

Mycroft rose and turned his back to Sherlock. He clasped his hands behind his back. The index finger of his right hand twitched. “I cannot do that at this time, Sherlock. Do not press me for reasons. I cannot share it with you.”

Rage boiled in Sherlock’s belly. He wanted to shout at his brother, to reach out and sweep the hateful documents off the desk, to break something. But he knew any childish outburst would only make matters worse. If Mycroft had reasons to allow Mary her freedom, nothing he could say or do would change those reasons. He swallowed his anger with a sigh and gathered up the envelopes. 

“I hope those reasons are very good ones. Even suggesting to John that he forgive her will cause him distress. And by association, distress me.” Sherlock rose with a smothered wince - it still hurt to get up from a seated position. He grabbed his greatcoat from the coat tree beside the door and shrugged into it. 

Mycroft turned toward him as Sherlock opened the door. “What will you tell him?”

Sherlock frowned. “The truth.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “For once.”

 

~*~

 

Sherlock had gone out alone and that made John worry. Since his convalescence, Sherlock had so rarely gone anywhere alone and now John felt fretful to have been left at home. He’d asked Sherlock if he’d wanted company but Sherlock had answered that he’d received a summons from Mycroft. John was only too glad to escape an encounter with Sherlock’s brother; he rescinded his offer.

John had fiddled about the flat for the two hours he’d been alone. Since Sherlock’s injury, Mrs. Hudson had abandoned all pretense of not being their housekeeper. She’d thrown herself at 221B with a vengeance: straightening, scrubbing and dusting. She seemed to channel her worry and concern over Sherlock into making the flat gleam. This left John with little to do other than wash out their coffee mugs from that morning. He poked about on his blog for a bit but couldn't come up with anything to post. What was he to say? _‘I’m taking care of Sherlock night and day after my wife shot him and he coded on the operating table? He’s doing great after surgeons dug a bullet out of his liver and he escaped hospital and ran around London to stage a scene where my wife revealed her lying, murderous nature to me, then he collapsed and coded a second time. Surgeons had to dig around in his chest again but he’s doing fine now.’_ No, that was not the way to reveal his fucked up situation to his friends and family. He wasn’t sure exactly how he’d tell everyone but he was certain a blog post was not the right way.

He snapped the laptop closed in disgust and rose to pace about the flat. He needed something to do, something to keep his mind occupied. Something to keep him from thinking. Without Sherlock there to take up all the space in his head, John came dangerously close to falling into despair over his situation. He grabbed the knitted afghan from the back of the sofa and refolded it even though Mrs. Hudson had folded it perfectly just the day before. He went to the window and admitted to himself that he was just waiting for Sherlock to come home.

He was still standing there with his hands in his pockets when the black car pulled up and Sherlock climbed out. John felt his heart actually leap in his chest, so great was his delight that Sherlock was home. He listened to Sherlock’s tread on the stairs and turned to face him as Sherlock entered the flat carrying white, catalog-size envelopes in his hand. John sucked in a breath when he saw Sherlock’s expression.

“Sherlock.” All of John’s concern compressed into those two syllables.

Sherlock looked at him briefly then turned to hang up his coat and scarf. John waited at the window with a frown until Sherlock crossed the room to him. “What is it? What did Mycroft say?” John wanted to add about Mary’ but he couldn’t force her pseudonym past his lips.

Sherlock sat down heavily at the desk and placed the envelopes in front of him then massaged his brow with his fingers. “Mycroft has had his legal department doing some research the past few weeks. This,” he picked up the thick envelope, “is their results. It turns out that you are not actually married. Marriage under false identity is automatically void.”

John dropped into in the other desk chair. “That’s good news. It simplifies things. I won’t have to file for divorce.” John opened the envelope and pulled out the fat document. He scanned the first page then flipped to the last page and inspected the signatures and seals. “So it’s official. The registry office officially voided the marriage.” He glanced at Sherlock, who continued to rub his forehead. “Sherlock, this is good news.” 

Sherlock nodded into his fingertips and continued to rub. Alarm crept into John’s voice. “What is it?”

Sherlock handed John the other envelope. John flipped it open and drew out the report, quickly scanning it. He grinned. “It’s really mine. I’m actually going to be a father. I had my doubts, you know, since everything she said was a lie.” Sherlock finally dropped his hand but an anguished look continued to haunt his eyes. John continued in confusion, “Sherlock, it will be ok. If you don’t want a baby around, I’ll find another flat. We’ll still see each other, we’ll just live apart until the baby is older. It will be up to you, whenever you think he’s old enough for you to tolerate, we’ll come back.”

Sherlock flinched like John had slapped him. “Is that what you think? That I don’t want your baby around the flat?” Sherlock laughed. It had an hysterical edge. “No, John. I would welcome your child and care for him like my own. If only it were that simple.” He drew out the second set of papers from the thicker envelope and silently handed it to John.

John’s tongue flicked out to wet his lips as he read through the legal brief. He silently placed it on the desk when he was done. Sherlock glanced at John’s face; it remained impassive. They sat in uncomfortable silence for a while. 

Finally, John cleared his throat and began to speak. “This will be all right. It will. I’ll file for custody and fight it as long as it takes. Who knows, she might not even fight. Who knows? She might drop the baby like a calf and walk away. We really don’t know a thing about her. I have no idea what she’ll do. The month we were actually together after we found out she was pregnant was pretty hectic. She acted like she was excited about the baby but she did a lot of acting about a lot of things. I don’t really know if she wants the baby or not. It’s not like we were trying for one.”

Sherlock laid his hand over John’s and squeezed. John realized he’d been babbling and shut up. His face crumpled and he let out an agonized gasp, “Oh, Sherlock. I’ve been so stupid.” He crossed his arms on the desk and dropped his head into them. “I saw what I wanted to see. I believed what I wanted to believe. Because it was easier to just go along with her, with the wedding plans. I told you that I didn’t think you were the type to be in a relationship, that I was marrying her because you’d get tired of me and end up hating me. But even that was a lie. I was marrying her because it was easier than stepping up and telling her the truth.” A muffled wet noise escaped around his folded arms. “What you said, months ago. That I cared more for what people think than I do for how you feel. You were right. You were _right_! I’ve been so _stupid_.”

 

~*~

 

Sherlock’s hand hovered over John’s shoulder. He didn’t know what to do. These things were hard for him - when people got emotional, when people were upset. He tended to freeze with everyone except Mrs. Hudson. That night the Americans had roughed her up, he’d responded to her tears on instinct, pulling her close and murmuring reassurances. Why was it so easy with Mrs. Hudson and so hard with everyone else? 

But this was John. He loved John. Loved him better than anyone in the world, even Mrs. Hudson. He stopped thinking and let instinct take over, holding John firmly by the elbow and hauling him to the sofa. They fell together onto the worn leather cushions and Sherlock maneuvered John to wedge him between the back of the sofa and Sherlock’s body. 

Sherlock tucked John’s head under his chin. He didn’t want to have to look John in the eye when he delivered the rest of the news. He held John tightly, one hand cupping John’s head and toying with his hair, the other hand stroking his back. The rhythm of stroking first up then down on top of John’s jumper calmed them both. Sherlock stayed silent and let the warmth of his body and the stroke of his hands gentle John. He didn’t need to speak hollow words about things turning out right. He didn’t know how things would turn out and he was honest enough with himself to admit he was scared by the prospects.

John’s breathing finally evened out. Sherlock knew it was time to tell John of Mycroft’s plan but he hesitated. He bargained with himself - he’d tell John after four more strokes, and started counting each soothing motion of his hand up and down John’s back. Four strokes passed, then four more, and Sherlock fell into a pattern of counting 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 over and over. 

Twenty minutes passed and finally he could put it off no longer.  “Mycroft.” Sherlock’s throat closed around the word. John tilted his face up to meet Sherlock’s eyes but Sherlock couldn’t bear to continue while looking into John’s hollowed eyes. He tucked John’s face back into his shoulder and ran his fingers through the hair at John’s nape. “Mycroft’s lawyers think your safest course of action would be to return to Mary until after the baby is born.”

Sherlock felt a hot gust of air on the skin in the open collar of his shirt, followed by John shaking his head against Sherlock’s shoulder. “No. Absolutely out of the question.” Sherlock felt John swallow before he continued. “And why the hell hasn’t Mycroft brought her in? What the fuck is his game? Why is she still roaming London with a gun?”

“I don’t know. My brother won’t tell me what it is but he has a plan. Things are happening behind the scenes and for some reason he wants to keep Mary free.”

John rose up on his elbow to face Sherlock. “I have no idea what he wants with her, but I’d feel better if she were to give birth in a locked ward. God only knows what harm she might do to the child.”

A wrinkle appeared between Sherlock’s eyebrows. “You don’t think she’d harm her own baby?”

John sighed. “I don’t know what I think any more. I didn’t think she’d shoot her friend.”

“She shot me because I tried to take you away from her.”  Sherlock sounded thoughtful.

John settled back down onto Sherlock’s chest. “I’m not a possession to be passed between you.”

“I know that.”

John huffed a laugh. “I’m not sure she does.”

Sherlock resumed stroking John’s back. He was quiet for a time then kissed the top of John’s head and said, “You need to do what’s best for your child.”

John tilted his head so he could see Sherlock’s face. “And for us. There has to be a way that’s best for all of us.”

Sherlock tightened his arms around John. He didn’t want to give up what he and John had but he remained silent. The decision was John’s to make.


End file.
